Kashyyyk Ghost
by Lady Tragic
Summary: Five years after Order 66, Delta squad is sent back to Kashyyyk to deal with a mysterious threat to the Empire's slaving operation. Republic Commando fic. FINISHED
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Spoilers, if you haven't played the game or read Order 66! Also, this is my first fic in a long while, and I basically got the sudden mental image of a weird armor shrine, and wrote the middle first. And I don't actually know what Wookiees do with their dead, but tree-mausoleums seemed as good as anything.

Star Wars stuff belongs to Lucas, Kid belongs to me.

Comments and concrit much, much appreciated.

Scorch couldn't for the life of him get used to the new kid. He was pale and skinny, and by his estimation, about two inches too short. And while technically he was the same age (perhaps even a few years younger) as the young man sitting across from him in the transport, Scorch and his brothers looked to be in their middle thirties. They showed it to varying degrees, while this kid looked every bit as young as his almost-twenty years.

All their other replacements- and there'd been _many _over the past five years, on account of the Centex boys just not being up to their standards- had at least had the Fett face. Younger, yes, acted wrong, yes, been right _di'kute,_ absolutely- but at least they'd _looked_ like _vode. _This one had the wrong face and a family and Coruscanti accent. He had a picture of his _mother_, for fierfek's sake. His name was Ixar Tephi, which Scorch thought was funny because it sounded like a droid designation. They refused to acknowledge he had a name though, and just called him Kid. He didn't protest it at all, which Scorch found slightly disappointing.

It was actually a habit they'd gotten into around the fourth guy, as they'd started finding it harder to care. Why bother remembering names or numbers when they probably weren't going to stick around anyway? It wasn't as though they neglected the rookies or left them to die- just that none of them could keep up. They made stupid mistakes, and the middle of a mission was a terrible place to retrain someone.

This Kid was doing okay though, relative to his predecessors. Still stupid sometimes, but apparently lucky as hell. This would be his sixth mission with them. No one had lasted that long since- well, since the last time they went to Kashyyyk.

Kid rapped his knuckle plate on his thigh rhythmically. It was a nervous tic of his.

"Stop it." ordered Fixer. He'd never had any patience for any of the new guys, this nonclone least of all.

"Sorry." replied the rookie sheepishly. He moved his hand, and was quiet for a moment. Then he started idly rapping on the hull. Fixer made an eloquent noise of irritation over the helmet link and Scorch suppressed a smile.

The fair-skinned brunet ran a hand through his cropped hair, a sure sign that he was about to ask something.

"Question, Kid?" Scorch asked before he could open his mouth. To his amusement, the kid _still_ looked surprised when he did that.

"Uh, yeah." He blinked. "You guys have… been to Kashyyyk before, right?" he inquired tentatively. Instantly, Fixer's shoulders tensed up. Scorch imagined he did much the same, though it's a reasonable question.

_Udesii, ner vod, udesii."_ Scorch soothed through a suddenly clenched jaw, over the private link. Fixer got up, and went to join Boss up front with the pilot. To Kid, Scorch said coolly "Yeah. We did."

"During the Clone Wars?"

"No, while we were on vacation." Scorch snapped irritably. "Yes, the Clone Wars. When the Jedi and the Wookies were on our side. _Last_ time, we were killing Trannies instead of protecting slavers, and we lost our sniper. Happy?"

_That_ shut him up. Most of it was the kind of thing he wouldn't dare say back in the barracks with their fellow spooks- and they _were_ spooks now. Storm Commandos, black hats meant to scare- but it was the mention of Sev that made Kid go instantly silent. He'd learned early that while they were _more _than happy to tell stories about the demises of previous replacements, discussion of their brother, the original fourth Delta was strictly off-limits.

In the silence that followed, Scorch stared blankly, not at Kid but at his black plastoid armor, exactly like his own. It reminded him of Omega. They were all gone now, even Dar and Niner and the two rookies who had filled out their roster. It reminded him of Sergeant Vau, who'd vanished with Skirata and the rest of his gang. In a way, he was glad. It meant they'd never had to face him for leaving Sev behind.

That was going to eat at him this whole mission, he knew- the memories of their last battle. Those memories always haunted him, but now- as they were sent back to Kashyyyk to deal with a threat to slaving operations- the fact that they'd _left a brother behind_ became all the more inescapable.

Their welcome was, understandably, not nearly as warm as their last visit. The Wookiees of the village watched them with even more suspicion than the regular Imperial personnel, obviously not reassured by the Empires promises that 'only rabble rousers and dissidents' would be enslaved. Though in fairness, the entire population of Kashyyyk was probably pretty well dissident. Scorch didn't blame them.

They were met at the dock by a thin man name Therwifth with a Coruscanti accent, a junior advisor for the Sector Moff and overseer for the planetary situation on Kashyyyk. From the way he looked at the Wookiees and the way he described this wonderfully vague 'threat' Scorch thought he sympathized with them, a little.

"Not a Wookie," the slight man stressed for the umpteenth time. "And not your average predator. No, definitely humanoid. The locals claim it's a ghost. I don't believe it for a moment of course, but-"

[It_ is_ a ghost.] stated a Wookiee who apparently acted as his aide. The translator in Scorches ear repeats the message in an annoying droid-voice. [A vengeful ghost from the last war, still wet with the blood of his enemies…]

"Yes, well, the descriptions we've heard are _quite_ shocking." says Therwifth nervously. "But inflated, I'm sure. For one, I doubt a single man could wipe out entire patrols. But whatever it is, it's never attacked a Wookie- only slavers."

[Of course.] the Wookiee grumbles with a pointed stare at the squad. [The ghost, at least, remembers what side he was on.] Therwifth ignores the jab.

"Most of the attacks have been close to one area- Sharrawna can take you." He says, indicating his Wookiee companion. Sharrawna made a noise that the translator refused to render but Scorch swore sounded like a bemused chuckle.

Several hours later, Sharrawna was leading them down a tree limb as wide as a Coruscant skylane.

[This is pointless.] she informed them. [You cannot kill a ghost.]

"If I it _is_ a ghost, ma'am. We don't believe in such things." Boss replied, and Sharrawna cocked her head as though listening for something.

[You should.] she grumbled. [You really should.]

Eventually, they halt before an arch of branches. The tree trunks were covered in a weird alien writing Scorch could only assume was Wookiee.

[I'll take you no further.] rumbled Sharrawna. [These trees are where we lay our dead. We laid _yours _there too, human, so that's where you'll find your ghost.]

"You're not coming?" asked Kid curiously. Sharrawna snorted.

[Do I _look_ like a shaman, human? Ghosts aren't my business. If you're going to incur a spirit's wrath, I want no part of it.] She informed them, striding back toward the village. Then she paused, looking back. [One more thing, humans. Disturb _our_ dead, and Imperial retribution won't save you.]

None of them really had a response to that. Scorch had seen angry Wookiees before, and had no desire to incur that wrath. So as they crossed rope bridges and bough-paths, the many mausoleums carved into tree trunks got only the briefest inspections. None of them could have concealed a humanoid, anyway.

Then, abruptly, they came to a bridge that was made of durasteel, not wood. In fact, it looked as though it had been build from salvage. They crossed it, single file with Scorch on point. As soon as he was across, he stopped in his tracks.

White objects hung from vine-ropes, were mounted on sticks and set on every available surface. Scorch's first thought was that they were skulls. Then, as he peered through the scope of his rifle, he realized the truth was just as morbid.

They were helmets. More than a hundred white helmets. A few were recent, so much so that flies still lingered on dark stains, but most… most were _clone _helmets. From the days when they'd fought for the Republic, not the Empire.

The whole display was centered around a huge mound of white stones stacked in a dome. It was partially overgrown, but something didn't seem right about it. The stones were too regular, almost familiar looking. Scorch couldn't place it until he glimpsed a familiar design in red paint. A red Republic cog, on a GAR chestplate. The whole mound is made of clone armor. He heard a staggered set of sharply indrawn breaths as his squadmates realized the same thing.

Boss hand-signaled them to proceed with caution, but they hadn't taken more than a few steps when suddenly the air was filled with a loud beeping tone. It was soon joined by many others in a weird, asynchronous harmony. Spot-lamps flicked on and off, and the four commandos instantly dove for cover. Someone had set all these helmets to detect motion, as an intruder alert.

They all dropped to the ground, rifles trained on the mound- except the kid, Scorch noted, who watched the forest. Good boy. The helmets blared discordantly for all the forest to here… but no one came. The kid sighed in relief. Stupid. It wasn't over yet.

"Looks like no one's home." He said, poking his head over the top of a rock. Miraculously, he didn't get shot at. Scorch yanked him down anyway.

"Thermo doesn't show anything. Not even any animals." Fixer informed them

"Noise probably scared them off." said Boss

"Maybe that was the point?" Kid inquired hopefully.

"Maybe." the sergeant replied dubiously. "Alright, Delta. Let's check out that mound."

They advanced along the vast bough with caution. The rookie stopped to examine a commando helmet with interest. Scorch nudged him with an elbow.

"Watch it, Kid. Those are our _vode_."

On the far side of the mound, they found a doorway. Above it hung the tattered remains of an ARC troopers kama, still retaining a few scraps of yellow trim. There were words on it, crudely written in something dark. '_Kom'rk tsad droten troch nyn ures adenn, Dha Werda Verda a'den tratu.' _The three veteran members of Delta read it aloud, only a split second off from each other. Kid stared at them, blank look obvious even through his helmet.

"They were the wrath of the warrior's shadow and the Gauntlet of the Republic." Fixer translated softly. Kid still looked confused, but none of them bothered to elaborate beyond that. The new troops didn't learn the Dha Werda anymore.

Something _lived_ in this place. Something sentient. There was a crude wooden table, and a bed of hides. One corner yielded spare bowcaster quarrels, and bits of tech that appeared to have been salvaged from GAR armor. Fixer examined them delicately, a small sigh escaping over the comlink. Scorch was starting to get a nasty and unwelcome notion as to the nature of their 'ghost'. Dressed in white, stayed in a... _memorial_ for clone troops. And no Wookiee had written that sign over the door. No, what they were looking at was a clone vet, Scorch would bet his rifle on it. And then he saw something that _really _made him gasp.

Over the doorway, held by crude brackets, was a DC-17m Interchangeable Weapons System. Scorch let his woefully inferior E-11 hang loose against his armor as he took the rifle down with the same care most sentients used to handle newborn infants. A small sigh escaped his lips.

"Full clip in the sniper attachment, otherwise unloaded. _Someone _took good care of this baby, though." Scorch checked it over thoroughly, oddly comforted by the feel of the older weapon in his hand. He slung it over his back, reluctant to part with it even if he lacked ammunition for it.

"_Ner vod?"_ said Fixer suddenly. His gaze was fixed on the rifle. "Were there any other squads on Kashyyyk during the battle?"

The implication of that thought sent an icy chill down Scorch's spine, but he didn't have any real time to process it, because a large, uncannily _familiar_ white form surged through the doorway and pinned Scorch to the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: O hai you're still here? Sorry this took so long. Really it only happened at all because I need a catharsis for my current rage at LucasFilm… I had initially planned to do a companion fic to this outlining Omega's previous defection, but Star Wars is dead to me now. Unless some things are recanted and others change drastically, this is my last and only fic in the fandom. It's a shame, because I was rather fond of Kid.

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With a feral growl, Scorch's Katarn-clad assailant extended his gauntlet vibroblade with an unhealthy _schi-i-ick_ that wasn't nearly as smooth as it should have been. Scorch was momentarily paralyzed by the sight of the helmet scant inches from his own, because he _recognized _it. The visor section was marred by a disturbing blood red smear shaped like a handprint. Sev, however, remained unaware of his relation to his prey, and Scorch barely managed to twist out of the way of the blade. The vicious stab carved a deep score in the plastoid of his chestplate instead of his throat, but it was a near thing. Then suddenly Scorch glimpsed movement behind his rabid brother, and Kid, bless him, slammed the butt of his rifle into the back of Sev's helmet. The rookie had no conflict of interest here, probably didn't even know what was going on. With a noise more suited to an animal than a human, Sev whirled on Kid. Now that there was no longer a danger of hitting Scorch, he raised his rifle and did exactly what his training had told him, firing repeatedly into Sev's torso in the endless few seconds before Boss could bellow "_Halt!"_

Sev crumpled at Kid's feet. Scorch looked at him in utter disbelief. "Have you had that thing set on stun _the whole time?"_

"I'm not _that _green," he retorted defensively. "I only switched it just now."

Fixer removed his helmet and knelt beside the fallen commando, checking his pulse. Boss and Scorch did the same, revealing their identical features. Kid followed the action, looking bewildered. Sev groaned and stirred.

"But that's not _possible,_" Kid protested. "Half a dozen shots, he should be out for hours!"

"Armor, Kid." Boss explained.

"My armor wouldn't stop any half-dozen-"

"Shh, and accept that they don't make kit like they used to."

"_Udesii, ner vod." _Scorch said soothingly, kneeling next to his brother. He could see Kid in the corner of his eye trying to get his attention to demand an explanation, but ignored him. "It's just us."

"_Ner vod?" _Sev's gravelly voice was rich with emotion- relief, resentment, and disbelief chief among them. He stood, looking at them warily. He put a hand on Scorch's shoulder, as though testing him for solidity, then embraced him with a _clack_ of armor plates. He proceeded to do the same to Fixer and Sev. "What the _fierfek _took you so long?"

None of them had a response to that. They just dropped their heads in synchronized guilt. Except for Kid, who tilted his head curiously, and boldly extended his hand.

"Ixar Tephi." He introduced himself. Sev scrutinized him, and scoffed.

"Ex-Ar-Tee-Five? Sounds like a droid number. Fitting." He removed his helmet. "Weird to see a mongrel in armor."

Sev was thinner than any of them, his cheeks taut if not quite gaunt. He'd managed to stay clean-shaven, but his hair was ragged and neck length, greying heavily at the temples. He looked more like a brother than a twin. Scorch cleared his throat awkwardly.

"We've had nonclones in the Corps for a while now."

"I know. Sharr told me." There was an odd quality to Sev's voice- he spoke very quickly, sounded slightly strained. "Confirmed it with my slaver kills."

"Sharr?"

"Sharrawna." Sev smirked, but it was bitter. "You know, the one who led you here."

"This was a trap?"

"Good to see that rapier wit of yours is intact…"

"Says the man who got gunned down by a rookie." Sev shrugged, chagrin apparent on his face. He'd have to have a hell of a headache now, armor or not, but he showed no sign of it.

"Wasn't the plan. Lost my temper when I saw you had my Deece."

Wordlessly, Scorch handed his brother his weapon, and Sev replaced it on the wall. Scorch could see he had a bowcaster and plenty of ammunition for it slung over his shoulders.

"What will you do?" Sev asked abruptly, expression unreadable.

"What?" asked Scorch. Sev smirked darkly.

"You were sent to kill me, weren't you?" _That _quieted them.

"Well," drawled Kid, breaking the silence, "technically, our orders are to 'identify and neutralize the threat to Imperial operations on Kashyyyk. But yeah. Dead is about as neutralized as you can get." Another long silence fell, and he shrugged. "But Command doesn't give a borrat's ass about what happens to you, so long as the slavers stop losing patrols."

"That's a thought." replied Fixer. "We'll have to improvise something."

"But not tonight." Boss said. "We need to head back to civilization."

"Too late." Sev interjected. "Night comes fast here. Predators are already out." He cracked his knuckles. "Even the locals don't go out after dark if they can help it. You can camp here, alarms keep them away."

He almost seemed desperate, Kid thought. Like he thought that if he let the squad out of his sight they would vanish into the trees like a mirage. Kid didn't blame him.

Later, it wasn't the noise that woke him – it was only sheer dumb luck that he was awake to see Sev slip out into the night. After a moment's hesitation, he followed him out of the plastoid fortress. But the older commando was nowhere in sight.

"You know..." a gravelly voice suddenly said behind him. "In my day you never would have survived training. Too clumsy." Sev shook his head, slipping down from the roof of the shelter.

"So the squad tells me. I was top of my class though, that's why I'm a commando."

"That's just _sad."_

"They tell me that, too..." Kid chewed his lip inside his helmet. "Mind if I ask where you're going?"

"Yes," Sev replied bluntly, but then elaborated. "I'd planned a raid on the main slaver camp tonight. I'd invite you along, but that'd be treason," he added sarcastically.

Ixar seemed to consider this. "Mind if I do? I don't like slavers." Sev's look of disbelief was undiminished by his visor. Ixar gave an armor-clacking shrug in response. "I didn't sign up to be a bad guy."

Sev snorted derisively. "You signed up to be a hero, then?" He began to walk away. The younger man took this as an invitation to follow.

"I signed up because most everyone I knew was killed by falling debris during the battle of Coruscant," he replied bluntly. "I seem to recall the GAR being the good guys when they pulled me out of the rubble."

"There are no good guys," replied Sev, shaking his head. "Or bad guys. Just people."

"If you believed that…" Ixar began tentatively. "You would have turned yourself in as soon as the Imperials showed up on Kashyyyk, and gone home."

"Maybe I was just pissed at the army."

"At your brothers?"

"At the army. They… they just did what they were told. Following orders." He had the sound of someone trying to convince himself.

"I'd hold a grudge."

"I don't," Sev said with blunt finality. In truth, if he held a grudge against anyone, it was himself. He was the one who had fallen behind. He was the one who hadn't been good enough.

The main camp of the slavers was unprepared, vastly overrating the value of safety and numbers. It was not nearly as troublesome as Ixar had thought it would be to leave no non-Wookie witnesses. Sev, though… Sev did it all so _casually _that it seemed completely effortless. Ixar felt distinctly superfluous.

They returned at dawn to what was clearly, by the body language, an argument over short-range comlink, though the three clones relaxed at the sight of Ixar and Sev.

"We've got a plan," Boss informed them.

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The red-smeared helmet landed in the dirt at Therwifth's feet. Sharrawna's feigned indifference turned abruptly to open hostility. Both had seemed surprised to see the commandos return after a night in the jungle.

"Well, _there_'syour problem." drawled Ixar in a mock rustic accent, nudging the helmet with his boot. "You won't be getting any more trouble from _him._"

"…I see." He looked at them nervously. "It was only the one man?" Boss nodded.

"Just a mad old battle dog loose in the woods. Had to be put down." He patted his rifle. The Moff's advisor nodded soberly.

"I see. A shame he couldn't have been dealt with before he attacked the main camp. In any case, your mission is completed, and your transport awaits…" Ixar touched his forehead in an informal salute, seemingly directed more at the viciously glowering Sharrawna than Therwifth.

The four commandos boarded their transport, jockeying with several slave ships and a more conventional freighter as they left atmo.

And in the hold of a less-than-legitimate freighter, a war veteran who'd lost his helmet planned the next leg of a journey to Manda'yaim. From there, he'd plan the eventual escape of his brothers.


End file.
